stfu; i
to teastallpanda, the queen
my liver and kidneys to overloves - i literally wouldn't have been able to put this up without her.
sechen, side!fanxing, nc-17, canon
12,578 w
Sehun gets around well. Not as fast as Jongin, perhaps, or as winningly as Zitao, but he gets around. He has his own way. His pace is steady, his hands are always warm, and he gets flushed surprisingly quickly. Jongdae's always liked red, its different shades and variations, and he's gotten to realize that there's a possibility - just a possibility - of him liking those colors best on Sehun.
It's on Sehun's birthday that they somehow strike up a deal that simultaneously blows up his ego with pride and deflates it with embarrassment whenever Jongdae thinks about it. He's shaken Chanyeol and Jongin by the collars numerous times since then, did you spike the juice you shits, did you spike the water or the punch or the cake, did you by any fucking chance spike the Goddamned air, but they've only smiled mysteriously.
"If they're smiling," he had discussed over a midnight bowl of Oreos and milk, "that can only be a dead giveaway that they might have just spiked my eyeballs in my sleep."
"They're holding their right to remain silent," Baekhyun had argued, waving his glass of strawberry milk in the air. "They could be covering up for, say, Wufan, maybe."
So Jongdae had slumped in his seat, defeated, confused and a little distracted.
"What happened, anyway?" Baekhyun downed the last of the milk and went to the sink, to wash the glass.
"You'll probably find out."
Jongdae still catches Baekhyun frowning at him from across the room, sometimes, as if trying to figure all the things that Jongdae has chosen to be. Well, it'll probably be his turn some time or other. If Sehun feels like it. Worriedly, he picks at his sleeve, Kyungsoo's hair, Jongin's knee ("Hyung, please," Jongin mumbles, trying to sleep), and finally gets up and walks over to his room. Joonmyun is comforting and omnipresent and a wuss. Jongdae cannot help liking him. "Hyung," he starts, "what're you reading?"
"A book on cosmology," Joonmyun replies, slowly. "But the font is too small."
"Ah." Jongdae flops onto the bed and stares the ceiling. "Hmm."
It's a good day, he thinks. Pretty empty schedule, for once. Everybody lounging around. Jongin getting some sleep, Joonmyun reading the starry sciences, Baekhyun probably daydreaming about lap dancing for Taeyeon. "Hmm," he says again, and Joonmyun closes the book with a groan. "Too small. I need glasses."
"Very old," Jongdae comments, and the other stretches, joints creaking in agreement.
"I sacrifice my share of vitamins so that you all have enough."
"Liar. Buy some," Jongdae grins. "Where'd you get the book?"
Baekhyun traipses by and stops at their door. "I'm starting a petition. The title is S, E, X, and the cause is for us to get laid. And I," he adds, frowning at them, "am faking your signatures and doing you virgins a favor."
Joonmyun snorts. "You're not getting any with your height."
"Or your dick!" Kyungsoo yells, jogging lightly to the bathroom.
Jongdae nods, sitting up with a yawn. "Truly, the truth has been spoken."
Baekhyun sighs, disconsolately. "You just wait. One day you'll go to sleep, puny mortals, and never wake up." He trudges onwards.
Jongdae hopes he isn't serious, and clears his throat. "He isn't serious, if that's what you're thinking," Joonmyun mumbles, rubbing his eyes. "Jinki hyung gave the book, by the way. I think he's finally trying to be friends with me, or something."
But Jongdae isn't listening, anymore. Baekhyun's S, E, X, draws him back to the packed, exhaustive month of May.
__
Jongdae has no idea what Sehun's way of getting around is, at that point, and the first time it happens - right before his eyes - doesn't really do much to enlighten him. He does, however, get a boner. Not a bad price to pay for getting scandalously drunk at the youngest's birthday party, if Jongdae is honest with himself. But Jongdae does not have the capacity to form coherent thoughts, let alone be honest with himself. The only words in his head are, ????, fuck, fuck, ¿¿¿¿, Sehun, wow, ##!!@$@, Zitao, fuck, holy, == ., ........., shit, !!!!!!!!!, and he vaguely considers that maybe of half of all that isn't words at all.
The fact of the matter is, Sehun's mouth is latched onto Zitao's neck, Zitao's head has rolled back, his hands gripping Sehun's shoulders until his knuckles are white, and a lot of Chinese syllables are falling out his mouth. Nice mouth, Jongdae almost sobs, in his head, and squeezes his legs together, questioning his location, occupation and existence. Sehun pulls back and smiles quietly up into big, puffy eyes. They open and look back at him with shock. "Why did you s-- " Zitao's accent is adorable, Jongdae notes, distractedly, as Sehun yanks him down and sucks at his lower lip. Bronze lashes flutter down again, high-pitched moan fumbling into Sehun's squashed nose. It's kind of hot, in an un-hot way. Hottentot, Jongdae struggles against the tide of testosterone flooding his brain, which promptly shuts down.
"Warm," Zitao gasps when they break off, chests heaving against each other. "Your hands are so warm."
Jongdae blinks, feeling a ghost of warmth against his sides, as if Sehun's hands are on him instead of Zitao, and this is shameful behavior, imagine if Siwon found out, imagine being able to lick little stripes up Sehun's neck like Zitao is doing right now, imagine the school choir, recall the words of the hymn, look at that smile Sehun's wearing, so pleased and almost abashed, don't imagine anything religious right now - it's blasphemous - how would Sehun's skin feel under his fingertips? How -- he watches Zitao unbutton first Sehun's shirt, then his own, sees them shiver, shyly, in the slight, sudden cold, follows the line of Sehun's back and the way it curves; he tries to pry his eyes away from his torso when the jeans come off, fails, squeezes his eyes shut in a last-ditch attempt to shut himself. He hears their breathing, fast and heavy - little, inexperienced sounds, and dear God, one of them has to be a virgin, and his eyes are hurting from being squeezed so hard, so he opens them again, yellow and turquoise showers falling gracefully over his vision, fading into Sehun and Zitao, heads tilted, locked together, hands down each other's boxes, bodies swaying as if in song.
His boner actually manages to wilt at his poetic take on the scene, and he muses, sadly, about the fact that he suddenly wants to bang Sehun. Very, very hard.
Zitao laughs into Sehun's mouth, leaning back until he's lying down - this should not have been possible, Jongdae croaks in disbelief (quietly, so as not to intrude), but perhaps it's the wushu background - and Sehun climbs over him, eagerly, nuzzling his collarbones, his ears, fingers gliding over his chest.
Perhaps Jongdae should take a picture. He reaches for his phone, but forgets halfway. Zitao is sitting up and turning over until he's resting on his knees. Butts? Jongdae's eyes widen in shock. Just like that? However, he does not find himself complaining. He feels an affinity for backsides, and these two have very admirable specimens. He also feels deeply regretful.
But no, the maknaes show him. This is not butts.
This is Sehun's eyes shut hard, lip bit in half, bleeding, this is Zitao's smile quirked up, amused, their breaths hitching in unison as Sehun thrusts into Zitao's thighs, stark, icy white against warm gold. Jongdae can see their muscles tense and relax, sees Zitao's thighs quiver, sees Sehun groan and bury his head in Zitao's back. Jongdae swallows, and Zitao's eyes burst open, face stretched into desperation and delight. Jongdae blinks, keeps his eyes closed. Zitao coming is not something he's sure he wants to see.
There's a flump as Zitao collapses onto the bed, laugh raspy. The mattress squeaks as Sehun shifts and curses, followed by a gasp - Jongdae's eyes open again - as Zitao's fingers come up lazily to stroke his knee, his thigh, thumb pressing down between Sehun's legs. He still hasn't explicitly seen Sehun's dick, Jongdae realizes, with some dismay, just a bit of the head, dark and glistening.
Three years he's been showering, every morning, in this eleven-membered hell (excluding himself, of course), and he still hasn't seen Sehun's dick. Jongdae sinks a little in his self-esteem.
There's a pop and Jongdae tries to digest the fact that Zitao is sucking Sehun's dick.
Sehun's sitting with his legs spread in front of him, angling his weight on his elbows, rumpled sheets tangling helplessly in his fingers. Sehun is skinny, leaning towards frail, skin stretched over bone, last three ribs showing, collarbones shining with sweat in the light. Zitao's head dips down eagerly, throat working, and Sehun throws his head back, pale Adam's apple bobbing once, twice, pink tongue coming out to wet pinker lips.
Jongdae shudders, makes to slip quietly out the room. "Fuck, hyung," he thinks he hears Sehun whisper, and he turns around. Sehun's eyes are glazed over, but they curve up when they meet his own. Jongdae attempts to smile back, then bites his lip and escapes.
He has a vague notion of Mario Kart as he zooms through the dorm to the bathroom, ducking under Wufan's outstretched arm and bowling Baekhyun over. "Jongdae?" Han calls confusedly after him, and Jongdae skids into his destination, slams the door shut, and attacks his dick with his hands, growling when he finally gets a steady rhythm. Sehun's body, flushed and sweaty, his eager eyes and ready lips appear automatically under his eyelids. He hears the sounds again, imagines Sehun kissing the base of his neck, and this is worse than being a trainee running on caffeine, or a rookie on negative sleep, because that was always imagination, and this is something he's just seen. Something Sehun's done and - and - his fingers stop and he blinks rapidly, hips bucking against his limp wrist. Something Sehun's done on his request.
Shit.
Jongdae wakes up a few minutes later, the floor already dried, his pants disgustingly soft and wet.
"Oh Sehun," Jongdae announces to the empty bathroom. "Is a first rate ass."
"Has. Not is. Has a first rate ass," a familiar, quiet voice whispers into the crack between the door and its frame, and Jongdae shrieks.
__
"Knock knock," someone interrupts his reverie, and Jongdae reluctantly pulls the smile off his face.
"Who's there?" He looks around, sees Joonmyun raising his eyebrows, staring at his pants. Jongdae looks down and yelps.
"Your boner," Joonmyun whispers, theatrically, before giving him an understanding look and leaving the room.
Jongdae picks up the book Joonmyun had been reading, and concentrates on the words. They're exceedingly tiny. In a minute, they start swimming around, not making any sense, but at least they dissipate the tightness in his pants. He looks at his crotch proudly for a moment, before wandering to the kitchen.
Sehun is already at the table, the only there. Jongdae blinks in surprise, then takes a seat. The boy looks up at him, and smiles. "Hello, hyung. Hungry?"
It's taken him some time to adjust to the ease with which Sehun shifts from Sex Monster to Serene Beauty within seconds, and the fact that they're both actually, Sehun, a single entity, that Sehun is probably batshit insane, that he, Jongdae, must take it all in stride and be very normal. Perhaps he was hungry when he entered the kitchen. Jongdae no longer knows very much about anything, suddenly. "Hanbok?" he smiles, disarmingly, and Sehun starts, looks around.
"What hanbok?"
Jongdae's smile disappears at once. Yes, exactly. What hanbok? He'd meant to say kimbap. How does one go from food to clothes? "Kimbap," Jongdae corrects himself, ignoring the worried look Sehun sends him before going to the fridge.
Let's see, Jongdae says to himself. The first endeavor had been May, Zitao. Then June, with Kyungsoo. Now July. Around three months. He feels decidedly unhealthy and well on his way to hell with a capital H.
"I'm thinking Joonmyun hyung," Sehun breaks the silence, punching in the microwaving time.
We. Jongdae would like Sehun to refer to himself and Jongdae as 'we' in a bunch of other scenarios in this universe, in many situations in every other alternate universe, and perhaps in every lifetime in case reincarnation is a true thing. "Hmm," he makes a happy, noncommittal sound of agreement, before he realizes what's been said, and his thought completes itself: this, however, is not the kind of scenario he would like for them to be considered together in. These circumstances are a very different situation. Jongdae wishes to cease being.
"How about it?"
His palms are literally sweating, right now, and this has nothing to do with bees and more bees. Okay, no, it probably does. What do bees look like when trying to make baby bees? "What?"
"We decided on everyone getting a turn," Sehun shrugs. "It was just a thought."
Jongdae closes his eyes, reminds himself of all that he is. EXO-M, lead vocalist, born in nineteen-ninety-two, his birthday is September the twenty-first, every year. So far, so goo -- "Hyung," Sehun whispers, abysmally close with no warning, and Jongdae succeeds in not fainting. Barely. "Let's," the kid insists, and if Jongdae was in his sense he'd whack him across the head. But Sehun the Sex Monster has stolen his senses, and Jongdae is left in a barren desert, drowning in the quicksands of desire, facing harsh winds of emotion and voyeurism. So Jongdae agrees, mentally whacking himself on the head, instead.
Sehun leaves with a victorious air, and the microwave beeps thrice. The kimbap is too salty, and he reflects that his life has started getting out of hand.
__
Jongdae doesn't know whether he's relieved or -- well, no. He is most definitely relieved. Whatever way Sehun has, it's backfired impressively.
Jongdae had been waiting, nervous, in the passage right outside the door, and Sehun should have sent the text ages ago, but it hadn't come. Had Joonmyun tied him up? Perhaps he was into that thing? Had Joonmyun fainted -- perhaps Sehun was currently attempting CPR? Perhaps he'd had a heart attack and Sehun has stabbed himself in despair? The more he waited, the more frantic he became. He was just about to burst into the room when a piercing scream befriended his ears, and the door banged open. Sehun fast-walked out. Joonmyun appeared in the doorway, in tears.
"I can't believe this," he spoke, voice hoarse with emotion. "I'm here to protect your virginity, not taint it. You know who I am? Guardian. I am a Goddamned guardian and I --" Jongdae had been thinking that he'd never seen Joonmyun so furious before, but then Joonmyun caught sight of Jongdae and Jongdae decided he'd thought too soon. Joonmyun saw Jongdae and turned purple. Nice purple. Lilac, baby-eggplant purple.
"YOU. BOTH OF YOU. What do you think you're doing here."
And so the promiscuous warriors absconded with great aplomb.
Well, maybe Jongdae is a little guilty about traumatising Joonmyun, but not too guilty. And he's a little sorry about not being sorry. And Sehun's face is three seconds from collapsing into laughter. And Jongdae is relieved.
"Heard you were talkin' shit," Baekhyun's voice is sweet.
Jongdae swallows.
__
He's a little annoyed with himself when he gets a notification on Line. It's from Sehun's number, but the message is, eung eung~ this is jongin!
Why hadn't he seen that coming? Probably because those two are best friends of the same age, he concludes, glumly. Their telepathy is something that's come from years of being together all the time, and Jongdae has to go around picking up clues.
Manager hyung doesn't believe in telepathy, Jongdae comforts himself. I will follow in his worthy footsteps.
The door is open just a crack, and Jongdae slips in. The lights are off but the lamp is on, and the dusky orange squares of light are strewn over the walls.
"This Kyungsoo hyung obsession is getting pathetic," Sehun frowns, sliding his -- no, Kyungsoo's -- pants lower. Jongdae almost tuts. Jongin is indeed in hot waters.
"Do you want an orgasm or not," Jongin huffs, cross. "You told me we could do whatever I want."
"Well, yeah!" Sehun is clearly irritated. "But I didn't say dress me up in your crush's bitesized briefs so I get an atomic wedgie the moment I look at them." He stares stubbornly at the light green pillows on the bed.
"Sehun," Jongin says, in an extremely dangerous manner, and Sehun deflates.
"Fine. But I've never cried on stage. Unlike other people." He smooths his shirt with a hint of pride.
"Don't, you radio fetoid," Jongin snaps, and gets up on his knees to pull his shirt off. He does it effortlessly, and watching the smooth, perfectly curved back reveal, bronze in the light, is sort of beautiful. Sehun smiles a little, and Jongin laughs. "You always like it when I take my shirt off."
"It's just -- really nicely done, man. Wanna move like you," Sehun picks at Jongin's knee, and Jongin looks at him with an odd expression. Jongdae's seen it, sometimes, and he's come to recognise it as affection.
"You're an ass," Jongin replies, awkwardly. "Hurry up and give me your tongue." Sehun's face is hilarious in its surprise.
"My tongue. You want me to give you my tongue?"
"Oh for the love of -- here," Jongin leans down and kisses Sehun, full on the mouth, and he probably does it with a remarkable amount of force because they topple towards the headboard, Jongin's arms crossed against it, cushioning Sehun's head.
"Gmmmm," Sehun says, legs kicking, and he pulls Jongin down on his lap. It's endearingly gross, and Jongdae feels a bit out of place. Scratch that, he feels like a mom -- not a regular mom, a cool mom. Minus the stony tits. He sighs and holds his head in his hands. Why why why why why. He's practically watching two puppies play-fight in pretty lighting, he thinks, as Sehun and Jongin roll over so they're lying next to each other, nipping hurriedly and scrabbling at each other's clothes.
"Condoms?" Jongdae mutters. Nobody listens: he is ignored. "Terrible people," he adds, and sits on a bed, resigned to his fate.
They're the quiet ones, usually, and they're quiet now. Almost like when it was with Kyungsoo, but there wasn't any urgency, then, just smooth stroke and silent kiss. And with Jongin, everything's a race, benign competition - if Jongin's fingers pry off Sehun's shirt in the first minute, Jongin's on his back and grinning as Sehun tries to rip his jeans off the next.
"You're forgetting the button," Jongin offers, and Sehun shuts him up with his mouth. By the third minute, Jongin's jeans and the pants Sehun's wearing have just barely missed Jongdae's head in a ferocious struggle to be thrown off, and Jongin is kissing dotted lines, from Sehun's arms to his fingertips, by the fourth.
At five minutes, Sehun is arching down towards Jongin's waist, their gazes fixed on each other -- Jongin's expectant, Sehun's careful -- as Jongin's fingers flit up Sehun's shoulders, appraising.
"Been working out?" Jongin's voice comes out slightly breathless, and Sehun raises his eyebrows, tentatively licking over the slit. Jongin's head falls forward onto his chest with a grunt, hips digging into the mattress, almost as if he's scared to let himself feel anything more. "Don't talk," he warns, but Sehun's breath, Jongdae can well imagine, is probably warm enough, mouth tight around him. Sehun tilts his head as best as he can, eyes defiant, and Jongdae sees his Adam's apple work before Sehun makes a little keening sound, and Jongin thuds his head back against the headboard, hips jerking up into Sehun's mouth.
Sehun actually seems eager about it, shifting into a crouch, hollowing his cheeks and whistling strangely through his nose. Jongin heaves a laugh. "The fuck, man, nose whistles?" And Jongdae is about to agree, but Sehun purrs, eyes half lidded, and Jongin runs a hand through his hair, his own eyes wide. "Fuck, keep going."
It's the ninth minute, and Sehun's hands tug lightly at Jongin's balls. "Shit, Sehun, don't," Jongin mutters, weakly, but his ankles are digging into Sehun's sides now, and he's in tears, lips swollen around the fingers he's stuffed into mouth to stop him from being too loud. Sehun wriggles slightly, and sits up, mouth wet and stick and shimmering with fluid. Jongdae can't stop staring at the heavy thread of spit and precum that trails from Jongin's cock to Sehun's mouth, and Sehun catches his eye then, grinning, and Jongdae is damned if he isn't hard by a happy eye smile in the middle of a blowjob. Scratch that, Jongdae is damned anyway. He is damned straight to hell.
Jongin moans, helplessly. "Why'd you stop, why'd you stop," and Sehun turns his attention back to the other boy, lips curling wickedly. "I'll touch you, now," he says, slowly, and Jongdae is about to come in his pants in all the colors of the rainbow. "And you're not going to come."
I'm not? Jongdae thinks, disappointedly, before he realises he is as dirty and perverted as the businessman who pays for girls in Japanese high school uniforms to live in his house and suck his dick every hour, on the hour.
Mortified, but still not very chastised, Jongdae watches Jongin nod frantically, watches Sehun's lips wrap around the head, Sehun's cheeks sink inwards until his cheekbones are stark white under his skin, watches Jongin scrape at the bedsheets and finally bury his head in a pillow as he comes, the small shout muffled and satisfied.
Sehun looks very pleased. "I am great."
The pillow slowly comes off, and Jongin looks debauched. His hair is a mess, there's streaks of tears going up to his forehead and down to his mouth, his eyes are dazed, and his cheeks are blotched a deep crimson. He stares at the ceiling in silence, until his breathing turns normal. "Okay," he says, after a while, still staring at the ceiling. "You are great."
"I am tremendously great."
"Tremendously," Jongin repeats, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his mouth.
"I made you cry. Again." Sehun is gleeful, probably seconds away from clapping his hands in delight.
Jongin's almost smile disappears at once, and he sits up straight. "Yeah, what did you expect I'd do? Sing Spanish ballads in a seductive baritone?"
Sehun snorts. "That'd be the day."
Jongin sighs and leans back. "I want Kyungsoo hyung to like me," he says, with a tone of finality. "And then we'll have mindblowing sex, like you and I just had."
"Only you," Sehun corrects, sternly. "My dick hasn't been fucking thought of this entire time."
Jongdae would disagree mightily, if it weren't for some unspoken rule that he can't exactly look at two people screw each other and then talk conversationally to them about their genitalia. So he wallows in the misery of unattainable daydreams.
__
Sehun bumps shoulders with him amicably, in the van. Jongdae looks up at once, and smiles.
"Hey," Sehun says, quietly. (Jongin trips over his own feet in his rush to sit next to Kyungsoo.)
"Hello," Jongdae laughs, and they share the window seat, staring out at the flashing boulevards and greenery on their way home. Sehun keeps to his side the rest of the day - whatever there's left of it -- mumbling questions and statements and nodding at Jongdae's answers.
"You haven't eaten much."
"Sehun, I just ate a plateful of rice!"
"Did you sleep properly?"
"The usual four hours, and then naps in the middle."
"Favorite color?"
That's unexpected. "Well," Jongdae blinks, taken aback. "Red, of course, but I like all its variations. So dark pink and maroon go, too."
"Dark pink?" Baekhyun drawls, but Sehun nudges him gently away.
"Why not light pink?" Baekhyun yells, now at a distance of two meters. "Why not pastel gay?"
"Pastel gray exists?" Joonmyun frowns, two meters in the other direction.
"Yeah, I guess like super light gray," Chanyeol suggests, and Jongdae clings to Sehun in helpless laughter, Sehun's arm tight and comforting around his shoulders. It's a wonderful feeling, he thinks, happily, before his world suddenly teeters at an angle and he's being carried, bridal style, to God knows where. "PUT ME DOWN!" he shrieks, pummeling Sehun's shoulders. Sehun complies, after a while. Furiously, he sits up and looks at where he's been held captive.
He's on his own bed. "Oh," he says. Sehun hovers around, awkwardly.
"Can I sleep here?" he asks, sounding very forlorn.
Jongdae blinks. "You can live here. I'll make cupcakes. We can retire right now."
Sehun looks scared. "Are you being... sarcastic?"
"SEHUN," Jongdae yells, and pulls him into bed.
"Go to sleep," he orders, sternly, and pulls the blankets over them.
Jongdae brushes his teeth busily the next morning, shaking his head up, down and sideways.
"That's dumb," Chanyeol mumbles, toothpaste and saliva dripping disgustingly into the sink.
"Mm?"
"You're vaaary dumb," Chanyeol sings, actively demolishing his molars with his toothbrush. Somehow he still has teeth. How.
"Shad up," Jongdae gargles, and spits. His aim is perfect -- the water disappears straight down the drain. Chanyeol looks at it, sadly. "How do you do it."
"I eat souls," Jongdae pats him consolingly, before hiking his pyjamas up and walking out. Zitao butts into him as he leaves. "Sorry," he croaks, and wow, his morning breath is awful. Jongdae drinks three glasses of water to wash the memory away.
Sehun's saved a seat for him at the table and smiles when Jongdae enters. Chanyeol's right. He, Kim Jongdae, is vaaary dumb. His stomach shouldn't be going floop flap fleep, but it is. He sits down next to Sehun and mentally sheds many tears. Of happiness, or confusion? Jongdae knows not, he knows naught.
Their elbows bump as they stuff their mouths with eggs and microwaved ramen. Jongdae mentally sings and one day he will explode.
__
He's working on his sketches when his phone begins trills.
The little prince, Yixing's message reads, is violating duizhang.
Oh. Oh, no.
Oh, dear.
Jongdae skids into the room and -- wow. Wow dear. Jongdae frowns. Oh dear.
The August sunset is crimson and yellow, but the blinds are pulled low, so the room is filled with stripes of light, a mesmerizing gradient. Jongdae sees fractions of Sehun in red and gold, the rest of him silhouetted against the darkness.
"Jongdae," a light voice calls, and Jongdae's head whips around so fast he's sure he almost breaks it.
Yixing's eyes stand out first, then his smile, then his collarbones. He motions for Jongdae to sit next to him, and the sudden movement of hand in half-light, half-darkness gets him a little dizzy.
"Sehun told me," Yixing whispers, behind his hand. "So I told him yes, he is welcome. Yifan, though..." he trails off. Jongdae knows enough of Wufan's temperament and his possessiveness over Yixing, so he doesn't need the sentence completed. He also feels a prick of annoyance. "Told you?" he asks, and Yixing nods. "He didn't tell me," Jongdae is about to grumble, but Yixing is peering interestedly over his shoulder. "You draw well."
"Huh?" Jongdae's watching the lines of light flow over Sehun's back, Wufan's forehead against Sehun's shoulders. Long arms, long legs. Wufan is muttering a long list of things that, if Jongdae's beginner level Mandarin is to be trusted, seems suspiciously like a laundry list to be washed and assorted skin care products to be bought. It sounds seductive, though, and Jongdae fervently prays Sehun does not fall in love with Jhia-Leng-Wu-Yi-Kevin-Fan-turned-Kris.
"All his names are so pretty," he mumbles, to Yixing. "Even Kris is nice, although the spelling is atrocious. Can you imagine someone liking a Chen over a Kris? No."
"That," Yixing replies gravely, "is because nobody would fall in love with a Chen or a Kris. It just doesn't happen."
"Our stage names are cursed," Jongdae agrees, mollified.
"At least you don't stand up in a horizontal position," Yixing replies, darkly, as Sehun moans, fingers gripping Wufan's wrists, toes curling. They're rocking up and down, and Jongdae feels his blood pulsing in his ears and in his fingertips.
"Lay is the worst," Yixing shakes his head.
"No," Jongdae shakes himself, and turns over to a new page of his sketchbook. "D.O is the worst. How do you even leave out the full stop at the end?"
He needs to hurry with his outlines this time. Sehun has never looked this beautiful.
He begins with the chair, of course, committing all the sounds to memory as he draws in Wufan's hair, his forehead, melts the lines hurriedly to the broad expanse of Sehun's back. The light spreads over the room, horizontal lines on either side of his side shining like odd, ephemeral wings.
Wufan opens his eyes and looks only at Yixing, and Yixing smiles, so Jongdae puts that in, too -- Wufan's eyes looking towards the right, as if his whole world is balanced, precariously, somewhere in the corner of the page. Sehun's breathing is heavy, laced with soft, short moans. Jongdae tries his best not to smudge Sehun's ankle, on the paper, or the way his shirt's been hastily untucked only at the front, where Jongdae can't see.
Yixing watches, carefully. "You like the little boy," he says, and Jongdae only looks at Yixing for a second, doesn't know or care what his expression is, before turning back to shade in the three little bumps of Sehun's spine. The sunset is fading quick, now, and the sparse light is violet, dimming. Jongdae fixes the creases on the denim that are Wufan's legs, strokes up a few lines, messily joining Sehun's neck and shoulders. Yixing tsks, and Jongdae knows, he knows Sehun's neck is thinner than that, but he's in a hurry, can't Yixing see, can't Yixing see how he's just trying to do whatever he can to capture Sehun in whatever way he can?
He feels tears of frustration escape his eyes, or maybe it's sweat from his temples, and he groans, as the last of the light drips away, and he can only barely make out their silhouettes now, curses and disconnected syllables weighing deliciously heavy on his ears. "You really like him," Yixing states, "I will lend you my color pencils for if you want the coloring." His Hangul is slightly garbled, and Jongdae smiles, not that anyone can see, not that he feels like smiling. "That'd be great, ge."
__
September isn't particularly sweltering, but it's exhilarating with their umpteenth Music Bank win. With Sehun and Jongdae making footsie at dinner a habit. With Han and Minseok dragging him away from Joonmyun's cosmology lectures to watch subtitled Leonardo DiCaprio moves together.
With Yixing swirling his tongue expertly around Sehun's nipple, placing ice cubes carefully in Sehun's mouth, under Sehun's neck, gliding cubes down the inside of his arms. Sehun is shivering, pink all over, and the studio is laden with the smell of sweat.
Jongdae is sitting dumbly against the mirrored wall, transfixed by the veins across Sehun's arms. Blue, turquoise, even viridian. They look like trellises, and Jongdae's fingers are itching to trace them, soothe them, feel the pulse, but Yixing is lying on top of Sehun and laving at his stomach right now, and he never feels a right to Sehun when someone else is with him so, he pulls his knees up and fingers the camera.
Yixing had given him the camera right after Sehun had shaken his head, and Sehun had shaken his head when Chanyeol had asked Jongdae to come home with the rest of them.
"Just take some of me," Yixing had smiled, surreptitiously. "Joonmyun needs to loosen up."
"I what?" Joonmyun intruded, suspicious. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you very much."
"Too fine for your own good," Baekhyun informed them, in a falsetto, before snickering and running to the exit.
"Yes," Yixing had nodded. "Baekhyun is correct."
Jongdae checks the sounds settings on it, makes sure the shutter volume is zero and the flash is disabled.
"How're you feeling?" Yixing murmurs, and he doesn't need to ask, really, because Sehun's hard, right up against Yixing's ass.
"Cold," Sehun manages, before scraping the floor with his nails -- Yixing's shifted his position, brushing against his dick. The ice is melting, pooling around Sehun's wrists, wetting his hair, shining on his neck.
"Mm," Yixing takes hold of Sehun's hands, pulls them over Sehun's head. Sehun's eyes roll up for a moment, so all that shows are the whites. Jongdae grips the camera, hard angles boring into his skin, but Sehun's eyelids flutter and he's focusing on Yixing with an almost pleading look on his face.
"Not me," Yixing smiles, mischievously, sweat dripping from his brow to his nose, down to his chin. "Nothing too serious." And he plucks a fast melting cube from Sehun's collarbones and stretches the band of his sweats. Jongdae can't believe this is happening.
"In we go," Yixing sings, sliding it down and releasing the waistband with a loud snap. "FUCK," Sehun's voice has never been this high before, and he's already more of a mess than Jongin had been, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes into his hair. He groans, eyes squeezing shut.
"Please," Sehun begs, but Yixing just keeps smiling, arching his back as he grinds down and fixes his gaze on Sehun. Jongdae takes a picture.
"It's been hot, this past year," Yixing explains, conversationally, if a little breathless. "I thought a drop in temperature would --" and he rocks back on his ass, sinfully slow against Sehun's dick, and Jongdae licks the sweat of his upper lip " -- be a little helpful, calm us all down." His head lolls back, and he considers his reflection in the mirror, hips stuttering to a stop, and Sehun groans again. "Don't stop."
Jongdae takes another picture of Yixing, the column of his throat dripping wet, shirt clinging to his collarbones, creased halfway up his stomach.
"Say please, little boy," Yixing smiles at Sehun, again. "This is all for you." He traces a finger lazily down the body underneath, from jaw to shoulder, down a side to his waist.
"Please," Sehun gasps, and his legs move up, bent down at the knee, tilting Yixing towards him. But Yixing isn't easily satisfied. "Not enough," he murmurs, grazing his nails over Sehun's stomach. (Wufan, Jongdae realises in a flash, must have trouble.)
So Sehun keeps saying please, says it in English, in Mandarin -- Han's accents, Jongdae thinks, absently -- calls Yixing hyung, and ge, and curses and moans under Yixing's ministration until Yixing starts grinding again, their hips snapping fast, faster, until there's not pattern, just broken dots and dashes of their muscles, stretching, complying, curling. Yixing comes with a gasping laugh, collapses on top of Sehun and rolls over to Jongdae at once.
Jongdae takes another picture, of Yixing sweaty and disheveled and laughing, eyes glazed over, face flushed.
He looks over at Sehun again, the next second. Sehun without a shirt in a puddle of water and his own sweat, eyes closed, mouth open, spent and breathing heavily. Yixing leaves, quietly, after ruffling Jongdae's hair. Jongdae crawls over to Sehun at once. "Why're you doing all this?" he asks, quietly, cupping Sehun's face in his hands, and Sehun only smiles in response, eyes still closed.
And although Jongdae is worried and bemused and forced to rely on the company of his own hand while everyone gets wild with this fucking idiot he's sitting next to right now -- this idiot who he likes -- he's thrilled that Sehun's giving him a smile that's for him, and only for him.
September is pretty exhilarating, especially when Joonmyun cries into Baekhyun's arms almost every night after he receives the email with photos attached.
__
Jongdae's pretty sure three in the morning is an acceptable time to leave the door to his bathroom stall a crack open because nobody would really be there, but there are new things to learn every day in life. He is trying to pee quickly and go back to bed, but his kidneys have succeeding in producing the Niagara Falls in his bladder. He's been standing, shivering in the cold, in front of the toilet, for at least two minutes when hears something strange.
It's a bit like the sink has decided to suddenly explode.
Niagara Falls finally ceasing to exist, he flushes and turns around, pushing the stall wider open, to behold Yixing sitting in the sink. Wufan's back is to Jongdae, and this is not at all like like Sehun's escapades, because they're whispering little things to each other and Yixing's thumbs are rubbing circles into Wufan's back, face set and patient, and the emotions are tangible and Jongdae wants to wither away.
He closes the stall door quietly and slides to the floor, thinking about Sehun and his frown when he wakes up, his smile when he falls asleep. Jongdae counts sheep and the numbers of I love you's they're exchanging outside the door, and feels strange and cold and alone.
part ii
my liver and kidneys to overloves - i literally wouldn't have been able to put this up without her.
sechen, side!fanxing, nc-17, canon
12,578 w
Sehun gets around well. Not as fast as Jongin, perhaps, or as winningly as Zitao, but he gets around. He has his own way. His pace is steady, his hands are always warm, and he gets flushed surprisingly quickly. Jongdae's always liked red, its different shades and variations, and he's gotten to realize that there's a possibility - just a possibility - of him liking those colors best on Sehun.
It's on Sehun's birthday that they somehow strike up a deal that simultaneously blows up his ego with pride and deflates it with embarrassment whenever Jongdae thinks about it. He's shaken Chanyeol and Jongin by the collars numerous times since then, did you spike the juice you shits, did you spike the water or the punch or the cake, did you by any fucking chance spike the Goddamned air, but they've only smiled mysteriously.
"If they're smiling," he had discussed over a midnight bowl of Oreos and milk, "that can only be a dead giveaway that they might have just spiked my eyeballs in my sleep."
"They're holding their right to remain silent," Baekhyun had argued, waving his glass of strawberry milk in the air. "They could be covering up for, say, Wufan, maybe."
So Jongdae had slumped in his seat, defeated, confused and a little distracted.
"What happened, anyway?" Baekhyun downed the last of the milk and went to the sink, to wash the glass.
"You'll probably find out."
Jongdae still catches Baekhyun frowning at him from across the room, sometimes, as if trying to figure all the things that Jongdae has chosen to be. Well, it'll probably be his turn some time or other. If Sehun feels like it. Worriedly, he picks at his sleeve, Kyungsoo's hair, Jongin's knee ("Hyung, please," Jongin mumbles, trying to sleep), and finally gets up and walks over to his room. Joonmyun is comforting and omnipresent and a wuss. Jongdae cannot help liking him. "Hyung," he starts, "what're you reading?"
"A book on cosmology," Joonmyun replies, slowly. "But the font is too small."
"Ah." Jongdae flops onto the bed and stares the ceiling. "Hmm."
It's a good day, he thinks. Pretty empty schedule, for once. Everybody lounging around. Jongin getting some sleep, Joonmyun reading the starry sciences, Baekhyun probably daydreaming about lap dancing for Taeyeon. "Hmm," he says again, and Joonmyun closes the book with a groan. "Too small. I need glasses."
"Very old," Jongdae comments, and the other stretches, joints creaking in agreement.
"I sacrifice my share of vitamins so that you all have enough."
"Liar. Buy some," Jongdae grins. "Where'd you get the book?"
Baekhyun traipses by and stops at their door. "I'm starting a petition. The title is S, E, X, and the cause is for us to get laid. And I," he adds, frowning at them, "am faking your signatures and doing you virgins a favor."
Joonmyun snorts. "You're not getting any with your height."
"Or your dick!" Kyungsoo yells, jogging lightly to the bathroom.
Jongdae nods, sitting up with a yawn. "Truly, the truth has been spoken."
Baekhyun sighs, disconsolately. "You just wait. One day you'll go to sleep, puny mortals, and never wake up." He trudges onwards.
Jongdae hopes he isn't serious, and clears his throat. "He isn't serious, if that's what you're thinking," Joonmyun mumbles, rubbing his eyes. "Jinki hyung gave the book, by the way. I think he's finally trying to be friends with me, or something."
But Jongdae isn't listening, anymore. Baekhyun's S, E, X, draws him back to the packed, exhaustive month of May.
__
Jongdae has no idea what Sehun's way of getting around is, at that point, and the first time it happens - right before his eyes - doesn't really do much to enlighten him. He does, however, get a boner. Not a bad price to pay for getting scandalously drunk at the youngest's birthday party, if Jongdae is honest with himself. But Jongdae does not have the capacity to form coherent thoughts, let alone be honest with himself. The only words in his head are, ????, fuck, fuck, ¿¿¿¿, Sehun, wow, ##!!@$@, Zitao, fuck, holy, == ., ........., shit, !!!!!!!!!, and he vaguely considers that maybe of half of all that isn't words at all.
The fact of the matter is, Sehun's mouth is latched onto Zitao's neck, Zitao's head has rolled back, his hands gripping Sehun's shoulders until his knuckles are white, and a lot of Chinese syllables are falling out his mouth. Nice mouth, Jongdae almost sobs, in his head, and squeezes his legs together, questioning his location, occupation and existence. Sehun pulls back and smiles quietly up into big, puffy eyes. They open and look back at him with shock. "Why did you s-- " Zitao's accent is adorable, Jongdae notes, distractedly, as Sehun yanks him down and sucks at his lower lip. Bronze lashes flutter down again, high-pitched moan fumbling into Sehun's squashed nose. It's kind of hot, in an un-hot way. Hottentot, Jongdae struggles against the tide of testosterone flooding his brain, which promptly shuts down.
"Warm," Zitao gasps when they break off, chests heaving against each other. "Your hands are so warm."
Jongdae blinks, feeling a ghost of warmth against his sides, as if Sehun's hands are on him instead of Zitao, and this is shameful behavior, imagine if Siwon found out, imagine being able to lick little stripes up Sehun's neck like Zitao is doing right now, imagine the school choir, recall the words of the hymn, look at that smile Sehun's wearing, so pleased and almost abashed, don't imagine anything religious right now - it's blasphemous - how would Sehun's skin feel under his fingertips? How -- he watches Zitao unbutton first Sehun's shirt, then his own, sees them shiver, shyly, in the slight, sudden cold, follows the line of Sehun's back and the way it curves; he tries to pry his eyes away from his torso when the jeans come off, fails, squeezes his eyes shut in a last-ditch attempt to shut himself. He hears their breathing, fast and heavy - little, inexperienced sounds, and dear God, one of them has to be a virgin, and his eyes are hurting from being squeezed so hard, so he opens them again, yellow and turquoise showers falling gracefully over his vision, fading into Sehun and Zitao, heads tilted, locked together, hands down each other's boxes, bodies swaying as if in song.
His boner actually manages to wilt at his poetic take on the scene, and he muses, sadly, about the fact that he suddenly wants to bang Sehun. Very, very hard.
Zitao laughs into Sehun's mouth, leaning back until he's lying down - this should not have been possible, Jongdae croaks in disbelief (quietly, so as not to intrude), but perhaps it's the wushu background - and Sehun climbs over him, eagerly, nuzzling his collarbones, his ears, fingers gliding over his chest.
Perhaps Jongdae should take a picture. He reaches for his phone, but forgets halfway. Zitao is sitting up and turning over until he's resting on his knees. Butts? Jongdae's eyes widen in shock. Just like that? However, he does not find himself complaining. He feels an affinity for backsides, and these two have very admirable specimens. He also feels deeply regretful.
But no, the maknaes show him. This is not butts.
This is Sehun's eyes shut hard, lip bit in half, bleeding, this is Zitao's smile quirked up, amused, their breaths hitching in unison as Sehun thrusts into Zitao's thighs, stark, icy white against warm gold. Jongdae can see their muscles tense and relax, sees Zitao's thighs quiver, sees Sehun groan and bury his head in Zitao's back. Jongdae swallows, and Zitao's eyes burst open, face stretched into desperation and delight. Jongdae blinks, keeps his eyes closed. Zitao coming is not something he's sure he wants to see.
There's a flump as Zitao collapses onto the bed, laugh raspy. The mattress squeaks as Sehun shifts and curses, followed by a gasp - Jongdae's eyes open again - as Zitao's fingers come up lazily to stroke his knee, his thigh, thumb pressing down between Sehun's legs. He still hasn't explicitly seen Sehun's dick, Jongdae realizes, with some dismay, just a bit of the head, dark and glistening.
Three years he's been showering, every morning, in this eleven-membered hell (excluding himself, of course), and he still hasn't seen Sehun's dick. Jongdae sinks a little in his self-esteem.
There's a pop and Jongdae tries to digest the fact that Zitao is sucking Sehun's dick.
Sehun's sitting with his legs spread in front of him, angling his weight on his elbows, rumpled sheets tangling helplessly in his fingers. Sehun is skinny, leaning towards frail, skin stretched over bone, last three ribs showing, collarbones shining with sweat in the light. Zitao's head dips down eagerly, throat working, and Sehun throws his head back, pale Adam's apple bobbing once, twice, pink tongue coming out to wet pinker lips.
Jongdae shudders, makes to slip quietly out the room. "Fuck, hyung," he thinks he hears Sehun whisper, and he turns around. Sehun's eyes are glazed over, but they curve up when they meet his own. Jongdae attempts to smile back, then bites his lip and escapes.
He has a vague notion of Mario Kart as he zooms through the dorm to the bathroom, ducking under Wufan's outstretched arm and bowling Baekhyun over. "Jongdae?" Han calls confusedly after him, and Jongdae skids into his destination, slams the door shut, and attacks his dick with his hands, growling when he finally gets a steady rhythm. Sehun's body, flushed and sweaty, his eager eyes and ready lips appear automatically under his eyelids. He hears the sounds again, imagines Sehun kissing the base of his neck, and this is worse than being a trainee running on caffeine, or a rookie on negative sleep, because that was always imagination, and this is something he's just seen. Something Sehun's done and - and - his fingers stop and he blinks rapidly, hips bucking against his limp wrist. Something Sehun's done on his request.
Shit.
Jongdae wakes up a few minutes later, the floor already dried, his pants disgustingly soft and wet.
"Oh Sehun," Jongdae announces to the empty bathroom. "Is a first rate ass."
"Has. Not is. Has a first rate ass," a familiar, quiet voice whispers into the crack between the door and its frame, and Jongdae shrieks.
__
"Knock knock," someone interrupts his reverie, and Jongdae reluctantly pulls the smile off his face.
"Who's there?" He looks around, sees Joonmyun raising his eyebrows, staring at his pants. Jongdae looks down and yelps.
"Your boner," Joonmyun whispers, theatrically, before giving him an understanding look and leaving the room.
Jongdae picks up the book Joonmyun had been reading, and concentrates on the words. They're exceedingly tiny. In a minute, they start swimming around, not making any sense, but at least they dissipate the tightness in his pants. He looks at his crotch proudly for a moment, before wandering to the kitchen.
Sehun is already at the table, the only there. Jongdae blinks in surprise, then takes a seat. The boy looks up at him, and smiles. "Hello, hyung. Hungry?"
It's taken him some time to adjust to the ease with which Sehun shifts from Sex Monster to Serene Beauty within seconds, and the fact that they're both actually, Sehun, a single entity, that Sehun is probably batshit insane, that he, Jongdae, must take it all in stride and be very normal. Perhaps he was hungry when he entered the kitchen. Jongdae no longer knows very much about anything, suddenly. "Hanbok?" he smiles, disarmingly, and Sehun starts, looks around.
"What hanbok?"
Jongdae's smile disappears at once. Yes, exactly. What hanbok? He'd meant to say kimbap. How does one go from food to clothes? "Kimbap," Jongdae corrects himself, ignoring the worried look Sehun sends him before going to the fridge.
Let's see, Jongdae says to himself. The first endeavor had been May, Zitao. Then June, with Kyungsoo. Now July. Around three months. He feels decidedly unhealthy and well on his way to hell with a capital H.
"I'm thinking Joonmyun hyung," Sehun breaks the silence, punching in the microwaving time.
We. Jongdae would like Sehun to refer to himself and Jongdae as 'we' in a bunch of other scenarios in this universe, in many situations in every other alternate universe, and perhaps in every lifetime in case reincarnation is a true thing. "Hmm," he makes a happy, noncommittal sound of agreement, before he realizes what's been said, and his thought completes itself: this, however, is not the kind of scenario he would like for them to be considered together in. These circumstances are a very different situation. Jongdae wishes to cease being.
"How about it?"
His palms are literally sweating, right now, and this has nothing to do with bees and more bees. Okay, no, it probably does. What do bees look like when trying to make baby bees? "What?"
"We decided on everyone getting a turn," Sehun shrugs. "It was just a thought."
Jongdae closes his eyes, reminds himself of all that he is. EXO-M, lead vocalist, born in nineteen-ninety-two, his birthday is September the twenty-first, every year. So far, so goo -- "Hyung," Sehun whispers, abysmally close with no warning, and Jongdae succeeds in not fainting. Barely. "Let's," the kid insists, and if Jongdae was in his sense he'd whack him across the head. But Sehun the Sex Monster has stolen his senses, and Jongdae is left in a barren desert, drowning in the quicksands of desire, facing harsh winds of emotion and voyeurism. So Jongdae agrees, mentally whacking himself on the head, instead.
Sehun leaves with a victorious air, and the microwave beeps thrice. The kimbap is too salty, and he reflects that his life has started getting out of hand.
__
Jongdae doesn't know whether he's relieved or -- well, no. He is most definitely relieved. Whatever way Sehun has, it's backfired impressively.
Jongdae had been waiting, nervous, in the passage right outside the door, and Sehun should have sent the text ages ago, but it hadn't come. Had Joonmyun tied him up? Perhaps he was into that thing? Had Joonmyun fainted -- perhaps Sehun was currently attempting CPR? Perhaps he'd had a heart attack and Sehun has stabbed himself in despair? The more he waited, the more frantic he became. He was just about to burst into the room when a piercing scream befriended his ears, and the door banged open. Sehun fast-walked out. Joonmyun appeared in the doorway, in tears.
"I can't believe this," he spoke, voice hoarse with emotion. "I'm here to protect your virginity, not taint it. You know who I am? Guardian. I am a Goddamned guardian and I --" Jongdae had been thinking that he'd never seen Joonmyun so furious before, but then Joonmyun caught sight of Jongdae and Jongdae decided he'd thought too soon. Joonmyun saw Jongdae and turned purple. Nice purple. Lilac, baby-eggplant purple.
"YOU. BOTH OF YOU. What do you think you're doing here."
And so the promiscuous warriors absconded with great aplomb.
Well, maybe Jongdae is a little guilty about traumatising Joonmyun, but not too guilty. And he's a little sorry about not being sorry. And Sehun's face is three seconds from collapsing into laughter. And Jongdae is relieved.
"Heard you were talkin' shit," Baekhyun's voice is sweet.
Jongdae swallows.
__
He's a little annoyed with himself when he gets a notification on Line. It's from Sehun's number, but the message is, eung eung~ this is jongin!
Why hadn't he seen that coming? Probably because those two are best friends of the same age, he concludes, glumly. Their telepathy is something that's come from years of being together all the time, and Jongdae has to go around picking up clues.
Manager hyung doesn't believe in telepathy, Jongdae comforts himself. I will follow in his worthy footsteps.
The door is open just a crack, and Jongdae slips in. The lights are off but the lamp is on, and the dusky orange squares of light are strewn over the walls.
"This Kyungsoo hyung obsession is getting pathetic," Sehun frowns, sliding his -- no, Kyungsoo's -- pants lower. Jongdae almost tuts. Jongin is indeed in hot waters.
"Do you want an orgasm or not," Jongin huffs, cross. "You told me we could do whatever I want."
"Well, yeah!" Sehun is clearly irritated. "But I didn't say dress me up in your crush's bitesized briefs so I get an atomic wedgie the moment I look at them." He stares stubbornly at the light green pillows on the bed.
"Sehun," Jongin says, in an extremely dangerous manner, and Sehun deflates.
"Fine. But I've never cried on stage. Unlike other people." He smooths his shirt with a hint of pride.
"Don't, you radio fetoid," Jongin snaps, and gets up on his knees to pull his shirt off. He does it effortlessly, and watching the smooth, perfectly curved back reveal, bronze in the light, is sort of beautiful. Sehun smiles a little, and Jongin laughs. "You always like it when I take my shirt off."
"It's just -- really nicely done, man. Wanna move like you," Sehun picks at Jongin's knee, and Jongin looks at him with an odd expression. Jongdae's seen it, sometimes, and he's come to recognise it as affection.
"You're an ass," Jongin replies, awkwardly. "Hurry up and give me your tongue." Sehun's face is hilarious in its surprise.
"My tongue. You want me to give you my tongue?"
"Oh for the love of -- here," Jongin leans down and kisses Sehun, full on the mouth, and he probably does it with a remarkable amount of force because they topple towards the headboard, Jongin's arms crossed against it, cushioning Sehun's head.
"Gmmmm," Sehun says, legs kicking, and he pulls Jongin down on his lap. It's endearingly gross, and Jongdae feels a bit out of place. Scratch that, he feels like a mom -- not a regular mom, a cool mom. Minus the stony tits. He sighs and holds his head in his hands. Why why why why why. He's practically watching two puppies play-fight in pretty lighting, he thinks, as Sehun and Jongin roll over so they're lying next to each other, nipping hurriedly and scrabbling at each other's clothes.
"Condoms?" Jongdae mutters. Nobody listens: he is ignored. "Terrible people," he adds, and sits on a bed, resigned to his fate.
They're the quiet ones, usually, and they're quiet now. Almost like when it was with Kyungsoo, but there wasn't any urgency, then, just smooth stroke and silent kiss. And with Jongin, everything's a race, benign competition - if Jongin's fingers pry off Sehun's shirt in the first minute, Jongin's on his back and grinning as Sehun tries to rip his jeans off the next.
"You're forgetting the button," Jongin offers, and Sehun shuts him up with his mouth. By the third minute, Jongin's jeans and the pants Sehun's wearing have just barely missed Jongdae's head in a ferocious struggle to be thrown off, and Jongin is kissing dotted lines, from Sehun's arms to his fingertips, by the fourth.
At five minutes, Sehun is arching down towards Jongin's waist, their gazes fixed on each other -- Jongin's expectant, Sehun's careful -- as Jongin's fingers flit up Sehun's shoulders, appraising.
"Been working out?" Jongin's voice comes out slightly breathless, and Sehun raises his eyebrows, tentatively licking over the slit. Jongin's head falls forward onto his chest with a grunt, hips digging into the mattress, almost as if he's scared to let himself feel anything more. "Don't talk," he warns, but Sehun's breath, Jongdae can well imagine, is probably warm enough, mouth tight around him. Sehun tilts his head as best as he can, eyes defiant, and Jongdae sees his Adam's apple work before Sehun makes a little keening sound, and Jongin thuds his head back against the headboard, hips jerking up into Sehun's mouth.
Sehun actually seems eager about it, shifting into a crouch, hollowing his cheeks and whistling strangely through his nose. Jongin heaves a laugh. "The fuck, man, nose whistles?" And Jongdae is about to agree, but Sehun purrs, eyes half lidded, and Jongin runs a hand through his hair, his own eyes wide. "Fuck, keep going."
It's the ninth minute, and Sehun's hands tug lightly at Jongin's balls. "Shit, Sehun, don't," Jongin mutters, weakly, but his ankles are digging into Sehun's sides now, and he's in tears, lips swollen around the fingers he's stuffed into mouth to stop him from being too loud. Sehun wriggles slightly, and sits up, mouth wet and stick and shimmering with fluid. Jongdae can't stop staring at the heavy thread of spit and precum that trails from Jongin's cock to Sehun's mouth, and Sehun catches his eye then, grinning, and Jongdae is damned if he isn't hard by a happy eye smile in the middle of a blowjob. Scratch that, Jongdae is damned anyway. He is damned straight to hell.
Jongin moans, helplessly. "Why'd you stop, why'd you stop," and Sehun turns his attention back to the other boy, lips curling wickedly. "I'll touch you, now," he says, slowly, and Jongdae is about to come in his pants in all the colors of the rainbow. "And you're not going to come."
I'm not? Jongdae thinks, disappointedly, before he realises he is as dirty and perverted as the businessman who pays for girls in Japanese high school uniforms to live in his house and suck his dick every hour, on the hour.
Mortified, but still not very chastised, Jongdae watches Jongin nod frantically, watches Sehun's lips wrap around the head, Sehun's cheeks sink inwards until his cheekbones are stark white under his skin, watches Jongin scrape at the bedsheets and finally bury his head in a pillow as he comes, the small shout muffled and satisfied.
Sehun looks very pleased. "I am great."
The pillow slowly comes off, and Jongin looks debauched. His hair is a mess, there's streaks of tears going up to his forehead and down to his mouth, his eyes are dazed, and his cheeks are blotched a deep crimson. He stares at the ceiling in silence, until his breathing turns normal. "Okay," he says, after a while, still staring at the ceiling. "You are great."
"I am tremendously great."
"Tremendously," Jongin repeats, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his mouth.
"I made you cry. Again." Sehun is gleeful, probably seconds away from clapping his hands in delight.
Jongin's almost smile disappears at once, and he sits up straight. "Yeah, what did you expect I'd do? Sing Spanish ballads in a seductive baritone?"
Sehun snorts. "That'd be the day."
Jongin sighs and leans back. "I want Kyungsoo hyung to like me," he says, with a tone of finality. "And then we'll have mindblowing sex, like you and I just had."
"Only you," Sehun corrects, sternly. "My dick hasn't been fucking thought of this entire time."
Jongdae would disagree mightily, if it weren't for some unspoken rule that he can't exactly look at two people screw each other and then talk conversationally to them about their genitalia. So he wallows in the misery of unattainable daydreams.
__
Sehun bumps shoulders with him amicably, in the van. Jongdae looks up at once, and smiles.
"Hey," Sehun says, quietly. (Jongin trips over his own feet in his rush to sit next to Kyungsoo.)
"Hello," Jongdae laughs, and they share the window seat, staring out at the flashing boulevards and greenery on their way home. Sehun keeps to his side the rest of the day - whatever there's left of it -- mumbling questions and statements and nodding at Jongdae's answers.
"You haven't eaten much."
"Sehun, I just ate a plateful of rice!"
"Did you sleep properly?"
"The usual four hours, and then naps in the middle."
"Favorite color?"
That's unexpected. "Well," Jongdae blinks, taken aback. "Red, of course, but I like all its variations. So dark pink and maroon go, too."
"Dark pink?" Baekhyun drawls, but Sehun nudges him gently away.
"Why not light pink?" Baekhyun yells, now at a distance of two meters. "Why not pastel gay?"
"Pastel gray exists?" Joonmyun frowns, two meters in the other direction.
"Yeah, I guess like super light gray," Chanyeol suggests, and Jongdae clings to Sehun in helpless laughter, Sehun's arm tight and comforting around his shoulders. It's a wonderful feeling, he thinks, happily, before his world suddenly teeters at an angle and he's being carried, bridal style, to God knows where. "PUT ME DOWN!" he shrieks, pummeling Sehun's shoulders. Sehun complies, after a while. Furiously, he sits up and looks at where he's been held captive.
He's on his own bed. "Oh," he says. Sehun hovers around, awkwardly.
"Can I sleep here?" he asks, sounding very forlorn.
Jongdae blinks. "You can live here. I'll make cupcakes. We can retire right now."
Sehun looks scared. "Are you being... sarcastic?"
"SEHUN," Jongdae yells, and pulls him into bed.
"Go to sleep," he orders, sternly, and pulls the blankets over them.
Jongdae brushes his teeth busily the next morning, shaking his head up, down and sideways.
"That's dumb," Chanyeol mumbles, toothpaste and saliva dripping disgustingly into the sink.
"Mm?"
"You're vaaary dumb," Chanyeol sings, actively demolishing his molars with his toothbrush. Somehow he still has teeth. How.
"Shad up," Jongdae gargles, and spits. His aim is perfect -- the water disappears straight down the drain. Chanyeol looks at it, sadly. "How do you do it."
"I eat souls," Jongdae pats him consolingly, before hiking his pyjamas up and walking out. Zitao butts into him as he leaves. "Sorry," he croaks, and wow, his morning breath is awful. Jongdae drinks three glasses of water to wash the memory away.
Sehun's saved a seat for him at the table and smiles when Jongdae enters. Chanyeol's right. He, Kim Jongdae, is vaaary dumb. His stomach shouldn't be going floop flap fleep, but it is. He sits down next to Sehun and mentally sheds many tears. Of happiness, or confusion? Jongdae knows not, he knows naught.
Their elbows bump as they stuff their mouths with eggs and microwaved ramen. Jongdae mentally sings and one day he will explode.
__
He's working on his sketches when his phone begins trills.
The little prince, Yixing's message reads, is violating duizhang.
Oh. Oh, no.
Oh, dear.
Jongdae skids into the room and -- wow. Wow dear. Jongdae frowns. Oh dear.
The August sunset is crimson and yellow, but the blinds are pulled low, so the room is filled with stripes of light, a mesmerizing gradient. Jongdae sees fractions of Sehun in red and gold, the rest of him silhouetted against the darkness.
"Jongdae," a light voice calls, and Jongdae's head whips around so fast he's sure he almost breaks it.
Yixing's eyes stand out first, then his smile, then his collarbones. He motions for Jongdae to sit next to him, and the sudden movement of hand in half-light, half-darkness gets him a little dizzy.
"Sehun told me," Yixing whispers, behind his hand. "So I told him yes, he is welcome. Yifan, though..." he trails off. Jongdae knows enough of Wufan's temperament and his possessiveness over Yixing, so he doesn't need the sentence completed. He also feels a prick of annoyance. "Told you?" he asks, and Yixing nods. "He didn't tell me," Jongdae is about to grumble, but Yixing is peering interestedly over his shoulder. "You draw well."
"Huh?" Jongdae's watching the lines of light flow over Sehun's back, Wufan's forehead against Sehun's shoulders. Long arms, long legs. Wufan is muttering a long list of things that, if Jongdae's beginner level Mandarin is to be trusted, seems suspiciously like a laundry list to be washed and assorted skin care products to be bought. It sounds seductive, though, and Jongdae fervently prays Sehun does not fall in love with Jhia-Leng-Wu-Yi-Kevin-Fan-turned-Kris.
"All his names are so pretty," he mumbles, to Yixing. "Even Kris is nice, although the spelling is atrocious. Can you imagine someone liking a Chen over a Kris? No."
"That," Yixing replies gravely, "is because nobody would fall in love with a Chen or a Kris. It just doesn't happen."
"Our stage names are cursed," Jongdae agrees, mollified.
"At least you don't stand up in a horizontal position," Yixing replies, darkly, as Sehun moans, fingers gripping Wufan's wrists, toes curling. They're rocking up and down, and Jongdae feels his blood pulsing in his ears and in his fingertips.
"Lay is the worst," Yixing shakes his head.
"No," Jongdae shakes himself, and turns over to a new page of his sketchbook. "D.O is the worst. How do you even leave out the full stop at the end?"
He needs to hurry with his outlines this time. Sehun has never looked this beautiful.
He begins with the chair, of course, committing all the sounds to memory as he draws in Wufan's hair, his forehead, melts the lines hurriedly to the broad expanse of Sehun's back. The light spreads over the room, horizontal lines on either side of his side shining like odd, ephemeral wings.
Wufan opens his eyes and looks only at Yixing, and Yixing smiles, so Jongdae puts that in, too -- Wufan's eyes looking towards the right, as if his whole world is balanced, precariously, somewhere in the corner of the page. Sehun's breathing is heavy, laced with soft, short moans. Jongdae tries his best not to smudge Sehun's ankle, on the paper, or the way his shirt's been hastily untucked only at the front, where Jongdae can't see.
Yixing watches, carefully. "You like the little boy," he says, and Jongdae only looks at Yixing for a second, doesn't know or care what his expression is, before turning back to shade in the three little bumps of Sehun's spine. The sunset is fading quick, now, and the sparse light is violet, dimming. Jongdae fixes the creases on the denim that are Wufan's legs, strokes up a few lines, messily joining Sehun's neck and shoulders. Yixing tsks, and Jongdae knows, he knows Sehun's neck is thinner than that, but he's in a hurry, can't Yixing see, can't Yixing see how he's just trying to do whatever he can to capture Sehun in whatever way he can?
He feels tears of frustration escape his eyes, or maybe it's sweat from his temples, and he groans, as the last of the light drips away, and he can only barely make out their silhouettes now, curses and disconnected syllables weighing deliciously heavy on his ears. "You really like him," Yixing states, "I will lend you my color pencils for if you want the coloring." His Hangul is slightly garbled, and Jongdae smiles, not that anyone can see, not that he feels like smiling. "That'd be great, ge."
__
September isn't particularly sweltering, but it's exhilarating with their umpteenth Music Bank win. With Sehun and Jongdae making footsie at dinner a habit. With Han and Minseok dragging him away from Joonmyun's cosmology lectures to watch subtitled Leonardo DiCaprio moves together.
With Yixing swirling his tongue expertly around Sehun's nipple, placing ice cubes carefully in Sehun's mouth, under Sehun's neck, gliding cubes down the inside of his arms. Sehun is shivering, pink all over, and the studio is laden with the smell of sweat.
Jongdae is sitting dumbly against the mirrored wall, transfixed by the veins across Sehun's arms. Blue, turquoise, even viridian. They look like trellises, and Jongdae's fingers are itching to trace them, soothe them, feel the pulse, but Yixing is lying on top of Sehun and laving at his stomach right now, and he never feels a right to Sehun when someone else is with him so, he pulls his knees up and fingers the camera.
Yixing had given him the camera right after Sehun had shaken his head, and Sehun had shaken his head when Chanyeol had asked Jongdae to come home with the rest of them.
"Just take some of me," Yixing had smiled, surreptitiously. "Joonmyun needs to loosen up."
"I what?" Joonmyun intruded, suspicious. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you very much."
"Too fine for your own good," Baekhyun informed them, in a falsetto, before snickering and running to the exit.
"Yes," Yixing had nodded. "Baekhyun is correct."
Jongdae checks the sounds settings on it, makes sure the shutter volume is zero and the flash is disabled.
"How're you feeling?" Yixing murmurs, and he doesn't need to ask, really, because Sehun's hard, right up against Yixing's ass.
"Cold," Sehun manages, before scraping the floor with his nails -- Yixing's shifted his position, brushing against his dick. The ice is melting, pooling around Sehun's wrists, wetting his hair, shining on his neck.
"Mm," Yixing takes hold of Sehun's hands, pulls them over Sehun's head. Sehun's eyes roll up for a moment, so all that shows are the whites. Jongdae grips the camera, hard angles boring into his skin, but Sehun's eyelids flutter and he's focusing on Yixing with an almost pleading look on his face.
"Not me," Yixing smiles, mischievously, sweat dripping from his brow to his nose, down to his chin. "Nothing too serious." And he plucks a fast melting cube from Sehun's collarbones and stretches the band of his sweats. Jongdae can't believe this is happening.
"In we go," Yixing sings, sliding it down and releasing the waistband with a loud snap. "FUCK," Sehun's voice has never been this high before, and he's already more of a mess than Jongin had been, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes into his hair. He groans, eyes squeezing shut.
"Please," Sehun begs, but Yixing just keeps smiling, arching his back as he grinds down and fixes his gaze on Sehun. Jongdae takes a picture.
"It's been hot, this past year," Yixing explains, conversationally, if a little breathless. "I thought a drop in temperature would --" and he rocks back on his ass, sinfully slow against Sehun's dick, and Jongdae licks the sweat of his upper lip " -- be a little helpful, calm us all down." His head lolls back, and he considers his reflection in the mirror, hips stuttering to a stop, and Sehun groans again. "Don't stop."
Jongdae takes another picture of Yixing, the column of his throat dripping wet, shirt clinging to his collarbones, creased halfway up his stomach.
"Say please, little boy," Yixing smiles at Sehun, again. "This is all for you." He traces a finger lazily down the body underneath, from jaw to shoulder, down a side to his waist.
"Please," Sehun gasps, and his legs move up, bent down at the knee, tilting Yixing towards him. But Yixing isn't easily satisfied. "Not enough," he murmurs, grazing his nails over Sehun's stomach. (Wufan, Jongdae realises in a flash, must have trouble.)
So Sehun keeps saying please, says it in English, in Mandarin -- Han's accents, Jongdae thinks, absently -- calls Yixing hyung, and ge, and curses and moans under Yixing's ministration until Yixing starts grinding again, their hips snapping fast, faster, until there's not pattern, just broken dots and dashes of their muscles, stretching, complying, curling. Yixing comes with a gasping laugh, collapses on top of Sehun and rolls over to Jongdae at once.
Jongdae takes another picture, of Yixing sweaty and disheveled and laughing, eyes glazed over, face flushed.
He looks over at Sehun again, the next second. Sehun without a shirt in a puddle of water and his own sweat, eyes closed, mouth open, spent and breathing heavily. Yixing leaves, quietly, after ruffling Jongdae's hair. Jongdae crawls over to Sehun at once. "Why're you doing all this?" he asks, quietly, cupping Sehun's face in his hands, and Sehun only smiles in response, eyes still closed.
And although Jongdae is worried and bemused and forced to rely on the company of his own hand while everyone gets wild with this fucking idiot he's sitting next to right now -- this idiot who he likes -- he's thrilled that Sehun's giving him a smile that's for him, and only for him.
September is pretty exhilarating, especially when Joonmyun cries into Baekhyun's arms almost every night after he receives the email with photos attached.
__
Jongdae's pretty sure three in the morning is an acceptable time to leave the door to his bathroom stall a crack open because nobody would really be there, but there are new things to learn every day in life. He is trying to pee quickly and go back to bed, but his kidneys have succeeding in producing the Niagara Falls in his bladder. He's been standing, shivering in the cold, in front of the toilet, for at least two minutes when hears something strange.
It's a bit like the sink has decided to suddenly explode.
Niagara Falls finally ceasing to exist, he flushes and turns around, pushing the stall wider open, to behold Yixing sitting in the sink. Wufan's back is to Jongdae, and this is not at all like like Sehun's escapades, because they're whispering little things to each other and Yixing's thumbs are rubbing circles into Wufan's back, face set and patient, and the emotions are tangible and Jongdae wants to wither away.
He closes the stall door quietly and slides to the floor, thinking about Sehun and his frown when he wakes up, his smile when he falls asleep. Jongdae counts sheep and the numbers of I love you's they're exchanging outside the door, and feels strange and cold and alone.
part ii